


A Connoisseur of Biblichor

by Byacolate



Series: Bubble, Without Toil or Trouble [1]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Library, Alternate Universe - Werewolf, Bad Yet Effective Flirting, Genji Shimada is a Little Shit, Libraries, M/M, Noodle Dragons, Werewolf Jesse McCree, Witch Genji, Witch Hanzo, Witchcraft, Witches
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-30
Updated: 2017-01-03
Packaged: 2018-09-13 10:12:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,599
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9119110
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Byacolate/pseuds/Byacolate
Summary: “So, uh...'Lupus est homo iecoris'…”Hanzo stares at him from across his book. “Liver of the werewolf.”





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [snakepapa](https://archiveofourown.org/users/snakepapa/gifts).



> I was graciously prompted: "I got snowed in at this tiny library and the only other person here is a librarian who I think might be a witch laying in wait to harvest my liver meat." Bless you, Kaiti. Have a very literal interpretation + werewolves.

“Damn.” He pokes his head through the curtains, squinting out at the white expanse blanketing the parking lot. The snow falls thick and heavy, and there’s so damn much he can barely see the trees across the way. “Doesn’t look like it’s gonna let up anytime soon.”

 

Jesse glances over to the front desk, not ten feet away, where the librarian sits with a book in his hand. He’s cool as a cucumber but for the way he’s staring at Jesse over the top.

 

He tilts his head back, just enough to make Jesse feel like he’s being acknowledged. Or… well, it’s a very real possibility that the librarian’s just looking down his nose at him.

 

“Unfortunate.”

 

Jesse’s eyes wander back outside at the quiet storm. Delayed, he gives a quiet laugh. “Nah, it ain’t so bad. Could be worse. Could be stuck out there.”

 

The librarian exhales through his nose just loud enough to give the illusion of a proper response. Jesse will take it; the guy looks like the type who might not bother with even that much, given his mood or the shifting of the planets. Real pretty but lofty, just that much better than the common folk. Ain’t no folk commoner than Jesse. And he’s been snowed in with him for - Jesse checks his phone - three hours now.

 

Well. Nobody’s ever accused Jesse McCree of not trying to make the best out of any situation.

 

“So,” he starts, tucking his thumbs into a couple belt loops and wandering over to the desk. The librarian’s eyes haven’t left him, as far as he can tell. They’re awfully pretty, just like the rest of him - dark enough to drown in, sharp as shattered glass. They follow Jesse as he leans a hip against the desk, perusing the selection of librarian recommendations propped neatly upon the surface. No name plate he can find anywhere, and a cursory glance at the guy’s chest reveals no name tag either.

 

Nice chest, though.

 

Jesse flicks his eyes up from the form-fitting grey Henley to the librarian’s eyes - still very much on him - and tries not to think about what a librarian must get up to in his spare time to get so goddamn _stacked._

 

“So,” he prompts, one imposing eyebrow jutting up. Jesse finds his tongue after a few seconds of scrambling, shoving both hands into his pockets.

 

“So,” he carries on, “looks like we’re stuck together for a while. Thought we might, y’know… get a little friendly?”

 

The second eyebrow joins the first, high on the librarian’s forehead. “Do you recall the reason we are _stuck here together?”_ he asks, calm as anything. Jesse clears his throat. 

 

“Now listen, I didn’t _mean_ to fall asleep on those bean bags, but y’all keep a damn comfy kids’ corner.”

 

“We do,” the librarian agrees, turning his eyes down to the book in his hands. “For children.”

 

“Weren’t no kids around when I - hey now, you don’t know the kinda night I’ve had.” He sniffs in the librarian's direction. “I don’t have to take any guff from you.”

 

Those pretty eyes don’t even deign to turn his way. With a crisp note, he turns the page. “As you say.”

 

Jesse narrows his eyes before he huffs, glancing around the room. This is definitely one of the smallest libraries he’s ever had the pleasure of crashing in. But then, it’s a small town; you live and die here, or you blow right on through, like Jesse. He’s found himself in lots of places like this along his travels - out of the way, nestled in the woods, a real cozy and quiet community. He’d smelled the oncoming snow on the air, and he’d only planned to bunk down until the worst of it passed.

 

Now here he is, still _in_ the worst of it, with probably one of the most beautiful men he’s ever seen, and… “Now pardon me if I’m bein’ a little forward, but I figure introductions might be in order.” He reaches a hand over the counter, finally snagging the librarian’s full attention again. “Name’s McCree. Jesse McCree.”

 

He’s almost more surprised than not when a warm, dry hand clasps his, if only briefly. He doesn’t have a firm grip, but Jesse figures with a body like that, the man doesn’t have much to prove. “Hanzo.”

 

“Well, it’s nice to meet you, Hanzo.” Jesse barely keeps his hand from twitching toward the hat that isn’t even on his head. “What’re you readin’ there, if you don’t mind my askin’?”

 

A quiet sigh leaves Hanzo as he closes the book. “Nothing at all at the moment, it would seem,” he says, but rests it face up on the counter. Jesse leans forward to get a good look at the old faded golden gilding on the vintage copy of -

 

“A grimoire, huh?” Jesse rests his elbows on the counter top, pulling the book toward himself and flipping it open. The scent of it is old, and the smell of that age is a comfort that’s hard to describe. Vanilla and cut grass. Jesse wouldn’t even need a super-powered nose to smell it.

 

Hanzo folds his arms across his chest and, yeah, alright, Jesse’s not too proud to admit he snags himself a peek. Just a quick one. It’s more than worth it.

 

“You the local witch or something?” he asks idly, just to make conversation as he flips through page after page of Latin.

 

“I am.”

 

Jesse looks up. Hanzo cocks his head to the side, and Jesse’s tempted to call the look in his eye some kinda playful. “Oh,” Jesse says, cleverly. “Huh. Thought I mighta smelled the arcane on you.”

 

Both of Hanzo’s eyebrows go up, and Jesse catches himself a little too late. “Not that I was trying to smell you. Just… comes with the territory.”

 

Hanzo straightens, looking Jesse up and down. “Ah,” he says with a new sort of thoughtfulness. “I see.”

 

Jesse flips through the book for another minute or so before he nods to himself, turning through a few pages. “Gotta be honest with you,” he says, cocking his head to the side. “I can’t read a damn lick of Latin.”

 

He can feel Hanzo’s stare like a brand before suddenly, shockingly, he _laughs._ It’s short-lived, but damn is it a pretty sound - dark and heavy, like smoke rising from a fired pistol. Hanzo brings his fist up to his lips to stifle it, shaking his head with a smile. “I would not have guessed.”

 

“Well, aren’t you one polite son of a gun.”

 

Boy, but that smile is distracting. This close, face to face, now that Jesse’s made him laugh he feels a little braver about looking Hanzo over. He’s… well, striking is a good word for it. He’s got a neat little undercut, and the rest of his hair is long and dark, pulled back by a golden ribbon. He’s got enough visible piercings to make a man wonder if there might be a couple more out of view, and now that Jesse’s looking, he can see a bright burst of color on Hanzo’s left forearm that he’d love to explore. But it’s his eyes that might really do Jesse in.

 

“Is there something on my face?” Hanzo asks, not sounding much at all like he believes that’s the case. Jesse clears his throat and looks back down at the grimoire.

 

“No sir, just your impeccable eyeliner.”

 

That smoky laugh comes back, softer and even more short-lived than the last. “It is good of you to notice.”

 

Jesse’s feeling pretty damn good about himself as he leafs through the grimoire, finally picking his way through to Hanzo’s bookmarked page. He smirks at the assortment of anatomically correct organs drawn and diagrammed on the page, opens his mouth to comment on it when a word he’s rather familiar with trips him up.

 

 _Lupus_ , underlined with red pen in what appears to be a list of ingredients. Jesse squints. 

 

“Uh.” He scratches his nose. “What, uh. What’s _iecur?_ Outta curiosity.” 

 

Hanzo leans over to look at the page where Jesse’s pointing. “Iecur,” he says, his pronunciation fluid. “Liver.”

 

“Liver. Right.” He swallows. “So, uh... _Lupus est homo iecoris_ …”

 

Hanzo stares at him from across the book. “Liver of the werewolf,” he says.

 

Jesse won’t say he’s sweating buckets, but… “I’ll be honest with you, Hanzo; I’m sweatin’ buckets. This don’t look too good for me.”

 

That glint of humor flickers to life in Hanzo’s eyes, even though his face remains impassive. “What doesn’t look good for you?”

 

“Oh, well.” He gestures first at Hanzo, then the library at large. “A werewolf bein’ stuck in a snowstorm alone with a practitioner of the arcane scoping out werewolf organs.”

 

“Mister McCree, I am a witch,” he says coolly, “not a murderer. Besides...” He pulls the grimoire back over the desk toward himself, flipping through the pages with a significant dearth of reverence, “this is an inaccurate and impractical guide. _Proper_ witchcraft is never truly outdated, but this…” He snorts, tossing the book back to the counter. “This is just insulting. Written by an eighteenth century hack.”

 

He slaps a palm down on top of the grimoire, and this time Jesse gets a good look at the tattoo crawling up his arm. Dragons, surrounded by clouds and lightning. It’s mighty distracting.

 

“You, uh… sure do seem to know your stuff.”

 

“Yes.” He rolls his eyes. “My brother runs a blog for such things. I am his source.”

 

“Huh.” Jesse isn’t wary by nature, and despite the fact that a part of him still begs for caution, the rest of him latches onto any excuse not to suspect such a pretty thing of something heinous. “That’s a relief.”

 

Hanzo eyes him strangely. “I suppose it must be. I have no intention of harvesting your organs, Jesse McCree.”

 

“Well, I’m downright flattered. I like ‘em inside me, is all.”

 

Hanzo tucks the grimoire away behind the counter and rises for the first time, that Jesse’s seen. He’s… a lot shorter than he’d have thought. But damn, those shoulders… He nearly swoons when Hanzo shows him his back to round the counter. He bites his tongue as Hanzo leans over just a bit to peer out the white linen curtains because, yes sir, those are some tight jeans clinging to some very interesting thighs, and a perfectly muscled -

 

“Pretty bad out there, ain’t it,” he warbles, and clears his throat when Hanzo peers over a shoulder at him.

 

“Yes,” he agrees, glancing back out for a short moment before drawing away from the window. Hanzo pulls a phone out of his back pocket and checks it, a tiny frown forming a divot between his eyebrows. “It is not anticipated to stop for several hours. Possibly through the night.”

 

He meets Jesse's eyes and they exchange grimaces.

 

“Well… shit.”


	2. Chapter 2

“Mm.” Hanzo rubs a finger under his lips, which isn’t distracting at all, and pockets his phone again. “Fortunately, we have provisions.”

 

“Do we?” McCree perks up a little, and follows Hanzo when he starts off toward the back of the library. Hanzo gives him a look.

 

“We, as in the library, but I suppose now that  _ we  _ means you and I.”

 

“Unless you were after my liver for your dark purposes,” McCree offers, ducking into a back room after Hanzo, who smirks. 

 

“Yes, there would be more for me if you were not part of the equation.”

 

“Then I guess apologies are in order.”

 

The back room is cozy and quaint, with a small table covered in the same white linen cloth as the curtains. There’s a little refrigerator, a coffee machine, and a glass contraption that probably steeps tea, if Jesse had to hazard a guess. A few crystals hang from threads on the window, and more dot the room in tasteful places. There are sigils on the wall, painted on off-white paper, and Jesse can only identify a couple - _peace_ and _mindfulness._ In each corner of the room, plants in tall vases sprawl out over the lips of their containers, and when Hanzo moves to water each it almost looks like they’re reaching for him.

 

“There is coffee and tea in the cupboard,” Hanzo says, nodding toward the space under the mini fridge. “I believe we still have a box of crackers as well. Help yourself.”

 

“And dinner?” Jesse says. He glances out the window with a little grimace. “I can always head out and find something… don’t know how you’d feel about the mess dinner would make on your nice floors, but…”

 

“That will not be necessary.” He tips a small blue watering can into a hanging basket, spilling over with the tendrils of an enormous aloe plant. “I will take care of dinner.”

 

“Well, as long as it ain’t McCree-three-ways, I’m easy.”

 

 

 

 

Jesse sets about making a pot of coffee - the whimsically unprofessional, pastel font type on the label of the pack of coffee grounds suggests a small time operation. Looks like Hanzo supports local business. 

 

There’s something awfully cozy about sitting in a librarian’s lounge where everything smells of fresh coffee and growing things. Jesse figures he’s picked the right place to hunker down for a storm - especially when Hanzo finally takes a seat across the table from him with a steaming cup of tea in hand, straight from the fancy glass press. 

 

“Pardon me for askin’, but...” Jesse taps the side of his mug with metal fingers, catching Hanzo’s attention with a chorus of plink-plinks. “I figure you ain’t from around here. What brings a witch like yourself to these parts?”

 

“A witch like myself,” Hanzo repeats. There ought to be a saying about eyebrows that speak louder than words. “You mean Japanese.”

 

Jesse makes a face. “Yeah, s’pose I do. But in the broader sense. You’re a young, fashionable man,” he can’t help but grin at Hanzo’s snort, “talented in the arcane, a long way from home. Most folk like you would do well in the big city, I’d figure. But you take an understated job in a little backwoods town. Gotta be a story there.”

 

Hanzo takes a cautious sip of his tea, those deep dark eyes peering right through Jesse. “And you are a lone wolf who sleeps in the children’s section of small town libraries. You too must have a tale to tell.”

 

“Yeah, but I asked you first.” 

 

The stud in Hanzo’s nose catches in the light when he tips his head back just so. His little smile is just as eye-catching. 

 

“Childish.” He takes another sip before setting the cup down, cradling the ceramic in his palms to warm them. “The town needed a witch. I needed a quiet place to stay with my brother. It is as simple as this.”

 

“It’s rarely as simple as that,” Jesse points out, tap-a-tapping on his mug, “but fair enough.”

 

“Your turn.”

 

Jesse leans back in his chair, and at the last moment thinks better of propping his feet up on the table. Hanzo still has plausible deniability regarding that so-called  _ hack _ werewolf liver spell. “Oh, well. I was just out hunting, as y’ do, and I smelled the storm. Your cozy little library was the first place I happened across.” He lifts both hands, palm up, before folding them behind his head. “It’s as simple as that.”

 

“Do you not live nearby?” Hanzo asks, trailing his fingers over the sides of his mug. Jesse shrugs.

 

“No sir. Don’t live much of anywhere.”

 

“You are a homeless man.”

 

He grimaces. “I prefer to think of myself as a bit of a wanderer.”

 

“A vagabond,” Hanzo nods. Jesse unclasps the hands behind his head and leans forward.

 

“Now see here - you’re pokin’ fun at a man who ain’t even got a place to hang his hat.”

 

“This is untrue. You hung your hat on the new young adult fiction rack.”

 

Jesse narrows his eyes, wagging a finger. “Don’t you sass me.” 

 

Hanzo’s little smile only grows.

  
  
  
  
  
  


Hanzo “takes care of dinner” by way of delivery, only it’s not like any sort of takeout Jesse’s ever called in. Jesse watches through the window, gobsmacked as a creature glides toward the library over the snow from the trees. The closer it gets, the easier it is for Jesse to see; it’s as big as a cat, but stretched out long, longer than a ferret, longer than a  _ couple _ of ferrets, and it doesn’t walk or leap over the snow - it flies. Most striking of all is the bright, nearly florescent green color of it. 

 

When it’s only a couple dozen yards away, Jesse can see that it’s clutching something in its front paws - a white box, tied up with twine.

 

Hanzo hurriedly opens the window when it’s close, and when the creature comes tumbling in, Jesse can’t deny it anymore -  _ that _ is a dragon.

 

Quickly, Hanzo snaps the window shut and brushes stray snowflakes from his shirt as the little dragon drops to the floor, chirruping up at Hanzo’s feet. He mutters something in Japanese and crooks a couple fingers, and the dragon leaps into his arms. He carefully pulls the creature’s claws free from where they’ve tangled themselves in the twine holding the box, and once free, it crawls up Hanzo’s shoulder and winds itself around his neck. 

 

“Here,” Hanzo says, thrusting the box at Jesse, who keeps careful hold. He can’t stop staring at the bright green monster of legend butting its head against Hanzo’s jaw like an affectionate cat. His attention doesn’t escape Hanzo’s notice, who digs around in the cupboard for an old chipped teacup - the fancy sort, white porcelain, painted with pretty winding vines and flowers along the lip. He pours some green tea from his own mug inside, and faster than Jesse can blink, the dragon claws down his arm and onto the table. It sticks its entire head in the cup to drink.

 

“My brother’s familiar,” he says to a gobsmacked Jesse, gently taking the box from his hands. 

 

“Oh, is that all.” Jesse plants both hands on his hips, plum gobsmacked by the happy little noises coming from the teacup. Hanzo laughs quietly, snipping the twine from around the cake box and lifting the lid.

  
With a tiny pop, an explosion of confetti bursts from the box and into the air, startling Jesse back a few feet. Hanzo and the dragon don't even flinch. The former does sigh, flicking a hand through the air; as if by command, all of the drifting multicolored bits of paper shrivel and disappear with the scantest hint of smoke.

 

"My brother is a practical joke."

 

Jesse feels a funny look cross his face. "You mean practical joker?"

 

"That too."

  
  


 

 

 

There's cake in the box, and plenty of it - at least half of a whole one, covered in strawberries. On the other half of the box are two stacked tupperware containers, and...

 

"... Is that a candle?" Jesse picks up the votive candle. The label reads "Jasmine". On the back, written over masking tape, is a winky face followed by _"for mood"._ "Huh." Jesse grins. "Think we oughta light this."

 

Hanzo reaches over and pinches the wick, which lights with flame at his touch.

 

It's a real pretty smell - sharp, floral, and almost immediately overwhelmed by the heady aroma of ginger and buckwheat noodles and something salty, tangy, unbelievably good. His stomach rumbles and clenches in anticipation as Hanzo unboxes the noodles, still steaming despite the trip through the snow, and pushes one round tub toward Jesse.

 

"My brother is primarily useless, but he does make good soba."

 

"I'll be real with you," Jesse says, breathing deep as he takes the chopsticks Hanzo proffers, "I reckon I know what heaven smells like now." Hanzo snorts.  


 

"It is good he is not here to hear this praise. His large head would absorb it." Hanzo lifts a mouthful of noodles and slurps it up. "Like a sponge."

 

The dragon familiar, long finished with its tea, rests over Hanzo's broad shoulders. The way it clings and coils close to his neck, occasionally dipping its snout under the flimsy collar of Hanzo's shirt makes Jesse think it probably wasn't impervious to the cold. It only rouses when Hanzo plucks a strawberry from the cake and lifts it toward his clingy companion.

 

Jesse wonders if he'd be allowed to film this - a tiny dragon sinking its fangs into a ripe red strawberry would go viral faster than the speed of sound.

 

"You got a familiar?" he asks, instead of permission to do just that. Hanzo cuts the cake in half, digging into his half with a fork.

 

"Yes. Two of them."

 

"Well now, don't think I ever heard of that. That considered greedy in your little inter-community?"

 

Hanzo smirks. "Few are so lucky as I."

 

"I'll bet." Jesse fishes around in his tupperware for the last lonely noodle, struggling to lift it from the corner with his chopsticks. "And where're they?"

 

Hanzo takes a delicate bite of cake and lifts his eyes to Jesse's. "Wherever they wish to be."

 

Jesse attacks his half of the cake with a little less finesse, his appetite a little mightier than that of a witch. "You really got that whole..." he gestures flippantly with a hand, "cryptic witchy thing down. Eyeliner on point. Wearin' a dragon as an accessory. Speakin' in vagueries."

 

"That is not a word in the sense you intend."

 

"I'm a modern Shakespeare, makin' shit up as I go."

  
“You are something,” Hanzo agrees, and takes another dainty bite of his cake.

**Author's Note:**

> Inquire about fic requests [here!](http://wardencommando.tumblr.com/ask)  
> Tumblr: [wardencommando](http://wardencommando.tumblr.com/).  
> Battle.net ID: byacolate#1589


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